A WatsonHolmes Family Outing
by doctorwhos
Summary: Sherlock and John take 9 year old Hamish on a vacation, but will it really be as fun and safe as they think?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1~~**

* * *

"Sherlock?" John whispered into the dark. He could see the other man's outline laying on the couch, hands steepled against his lips. "Sherlock we should go on vacation. Hamish hasn't ever had a chance to do something fun." "Uncle Mycroft took him to the science museum last week. That's plenty fun. Please, John. I was in the middle of thinking. Can this conversation wait?" Sherlock had opened one eye, it glinted eerily in the dark. John sighed and stood up while Sherlock closed his eye and went back to thinking. As John was walking back to his room he turned back to glance at Sherlock one more time. "Harry told me about this beach town in California that she visited once. It's summer and Hamish should be able to have fun. Why not a vacation in California?"Sherlock let out an exasperated, strangled sigh and John sensed it would be best to leave now.

* * *

After thirteen hours on an airplane, many excited conversations between Hamish and John and many sarcastic remarks from Sherlock, the odd family were standing in California. Sherlock had been convinced by being allowed to do detective work with the local police station for the two weeks they would be in town (plus he was a sucker for the beach). They took a cab, quite different from the ones they were used to back home, to the vacation home Harry owned and would be letting them stay in.

It was within walking distance to the beach, light blue on the outside with steps leading up to the front porch. Right away Sherlock was complaining about the creaking wooden floors that would disturb any of his thought processes but John and Hamish ignored him, instead looking around at the shelves filled with ocean artifacts and leather bound novels. Hamish reached straight away for a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and sat in the comfiest chair facing the window to begin reading. Sherlock set his bags against the hallway entrance and watched Hamish before sighing and retreating to the bedroom. John followed shortly behind him, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Sherlock unpack some things into the wardrobe. The bed was already made with a hideously colored quilt draped across the end, John flopped down in the middle of it and continued to watch Sherlock put things away. "Are you going to be like this the entire trip?" John asked, quietly so Hamish couldn't overhear. "Like what?" Sherlock stopped halfway through his trip from his bags to the wardrobe and furrowed his brow. John sat up and stuck his legs out, nervously shaking his foot. He hated confrontations, especially with Sherlock. "You know what like. You haven't had a nice thing to say since we first started discussing this trip. Your brother was kind enough to get you something to do while we're here and my sister has let us use this house and Hamish is quite possibly the most excited he's been in his life. Lighten up a bit." Sherlock allowed himself to turn his lips up into a mediocre half smile and looked directly at John. "Yes. Of course. Excuse my behavior, John. I'll do my best to, as you say, lighten up a bit." John figured that's as far as he'd get with Sherlock at that moment in time so he went out to the den to visit with Hamish who had abandoned reading to explore the other rooms in the small home they would be staying in.

* * *

"Please father, the boardwalk is right there. Can't you hear the screams? Everyone sounds like they're having so much fun. Please can we go?" Sherlock had made a deal with John to take Hamish out into the downtown shopping area. He had not realized that this deal would have so much begging on Hamish's part. "You'll have to ask your dad, Hamish. Large crowds of people are not exactly my cup of tea." Hamish pouted but continued on the rest of their walk to the house in silence except to point out the murals he found most exciting. Sherlock tried to coax him into playing a round of deduction with him, a game they enjoyed while walking through the streets in London involving seeing who could reach an accurate conclusion about a passerby more quickly, but Hamish was not being compliant. Once they reached the house Hamish bolted up the pathway and stairs, knocking the screen door against the wall as he burst into the house yelling for John. Sherlock sighed heavily but remembered his promise to lighten up and instead walked into the house silently, listening to Hamish excitedly ask John about a trip to the boardwalk. "Father already said that I'd have to ask you but it isn't like it's very far and we don't even have to go on all the rides I just heard all the people and they sounded like they were having so much fun. Please can we go, please please please?" Hamish was practically jumping around John, who was fixing something up in the kitchen. John chuckled and put his hands out onto Hamish's shoulders to steady him then looked up over his head to Sherlock who had followed close behind Hamish.

"I'd say that tomorrow sounds like a fine day to take a trip to the boardwalk, what do you think Sherlock?" John asked. Hamish turned on his heel to look up at his father with large, begging eyes. Sherlock nodded his head once, then stepped out of the room to tap away on his mobile. Hamish shrieked with joy and jumped up and down a few more times, hugging John before skipping off to bother Sherlock about an experiment they had started the day prior.

* * *

"WAKE UP, FATHER!" Hamish yelled, launching himself onto the bed and spreading himself out over both John and Sherlock. After helping Hamish with their experiments, Sherlock had slipped out until the early morning hours to work on a case with the police station and had only just fallen asleep when Hamish burst in, but he woke up in fairly good spirits nonetheless. John rolled over, pressing his face into Sherlock's shoulder and groaning before finally sitting up and kicking off the blankets. Outside was chilly and John began to shiver a bit. He had only worn a jumper and boxers to sleep in and had forgotten to pack his bathrobe, so he pulled on a pair of jeans quickly. Hamish giggled and grabbed at Sherlock's hands to pull him into a sitting position.

"You have remarkable strength for a nine year old," Sherlock joked before neatly folding the blankets off his legs and lifting Hamish with him off the bed. John smiled as Sherlock, dressed in a loose blue tee shirt and silk pajama bottoms spun their son around once before setting him firmly back onto the ground. "Go get dressed, Hamish. I suppose we'll leave in the next hour."


	2. Chapter 2

**I didn't expect to get any reviews or any follows or any likes or anything so it's wonderful to know people are reading and enjoying. This is a huge****_ thank youuuuu_****and now back to our regularly scheduled program.**

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**Chapter 2~~**

Hamish dressed as fast as he could and ran back into the hallway, peeking his head around the doorframe to watch Sherlock and John get dressed. He wasn't planning on eavesdropping but he had stopped outside the door just as Sherlock was complaining about having to go along on the outing. John hushed him immediately and gave him a look that ended all the arguments, but it was obvious to Hamish that his father would not be enjoyable on this trip. He vowed to himself to be on his absolute best behavior and to make this trip as fun for his father as it would be for himself. He knew that his father had a soft spot for him, especially when Hamish was happy and laughing. Sometimes he thought the same things that he sees as sweet as being annoying, though and Hamish didn't know exactly which one of these it would be today.

He snuck away from the door before either of his fathers noticed he'd been standing there and walked over to the chair he had sat in since they'd arrived, cracking open another book. Just as he began reading, John walked by and ruffled his hair, then grabbed the house key from the hook.

"Come along, Hamish!" He grinned down at his son, holding out Hamish's jacket so he could slip his arms into it. "It'll be a bit cold down by the beach." John explained as he put on his own coat.

"Is father coming?" Hamish asked worridley, looking up at John with big doe eyes.

"Yes, of course he is, Hamish." John stepped into the hallway and sighed loudly. "Let's go, Sherlock!" He yelled, then reached for Hamish's hand and walked out the door. Sherlock followed along like a shadow, brooding and dark.

* * *

Once they arrived at the actual boardwalk, Hamish was bursting with energy and ready to go on all the rides. They got in line for a ticket booth all together, but John excused himself to the restroom, leaving just Sherlock and Hamish. It was their turn next, and Sherlock really did not want to talk, especially not to some knowledge lacking teenager who was ripping tickets for a job. He stepped up to the counter nonetheless and was prepared to smile and play nice until he realized how similar the woman looked to Sargent Donovan. It wasn't her of course, but the resemblance was enough to push Sherlock's annoyance over the edge.

"One unlimited ride wristband for the boy. And twenty extra tickets please," Sherlock said. The woman smiled and typed into a computer to print out a receipt and the band.

"That'll be 51 dollars and 47 cents, please," she announced much too cheerily. Sherlock handed over some bills and waited for her to make the change. He had not expected for her to attempt to make conversation as well. "So you aren't from here?" She asked.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and was about to launch into a much more clever and interesting deduction than the one she had made when John returned from the restroom and cut him off. He thanked the lady, secured the band on Hamish's wrist and pocketed the tickets before pulling Sherlock aside.

"Please, Sherlock, do not do any of that deduction stuff today. Please." John whispered angrily. The only response this produced from Sherlock was an angry glare and a slight nod before a sarcastic smile spread across his face. "Yes alright, whatever that smile means it won't be good for us in the future but for right now please just play nice even though you don't want to be here," John continued. Sherlock nodded again. "Now Hamish, where would you like to go first?"

Hamish grinned and shrugged. "Let's start at that end and work our way across?" he suggested, pointing to the end of the boardwalk closest to them. John smiled in agreement and the trio took off to begin the fun.

* * *

"I don't want to ride that one," Hamish announced, pointing to the haunted house ride. They'd already completed the first half of the boardwalk and John was enjoying a deep-fried Twinkie as Hamish pulled on his hands to lead him forward and away from the menacing gargoyles outside the ride.

Sherlock thought otherwise. "Why are you afraid Hamish? Gargoyles and haunted houses are highly irrational. You might even get a bit of fun out of it. I'm sure John would have fun pointing out all of the things that can't actually be real. In fact I'm sure you would show him up on such a competition."

John shrugged his shoulders and licked the Twinkie cream off his fingers. "I'll go with you, would that make it okay?" Hamish looked back and forth between the ride and his father and seemed to decide that Sherlock's disappointment was scarier than the ride.

"Alright, let's go!" Hamish smiled widely then stepped over to give Sherlock a hug. Sherlock wrapped one arm around his son, then patted his back when he'd felt he'd had enough. Hamish retreated to go stand in line with John while Sherlock sat down on a bench at the edge of the boardwalk to wait.

* * *

John and Hamish sat down in the coffin themed ride seats and pushed the handlebar down. Organ music was playing and fake spiderwebs adorned the wall. To John's left a part of the wall was shaking and fake plastic chains knocked together. The person running the ride helped the people behind them out of their buggy and Hamish listened carefully to what they were saying. They sounded happy and like they had fun and Hamish was ready to play the game Sherlock had suggested. The ride runner walked over to Hamish and John's seat and made sure the handlebar was down before giving an eerie speech about ride etiquette.

The seat spun around backwards so Hamish and John were looking at everyone getting on and off the ride before they went in. Everything went dark suddenly and the air was cold and wet. Hamish took a deep breath in and started to immediately point out the rides falsities. John was trying to cheat, turning around in the seat to see what was ahead of him. After a particularly fake looking knight in armor jumped out at them, John realized that Hamish wasn't speaking anymore. He turned his head, laughing as he thought he'd won the game and his son no longer had anything to point out, but he slowly realized that he was alone in the buggy. Hamish was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm going to try to make this chapter a bit longer than the rest. At least 2,500 words if I get lucky. Enjoy whatever the outcome is! :) Also I was thinking about renaming this fic. If anyone has any suggestions they would be greatly appreciated!**

* * *

**Chapter 3~~**

Outside the ride Sherlock pretended to be busy on his mobile, while he was really analyzing everyone who passed by to keep himself entertained. That one had low self-esteem and was here with her boyfriend of two months, but she really was seeing another boy and had been for six months and fourteen days. The other boy refused to come to the beach with her. That one never had a boyfriend and isn't even sure if she likes boys at all. That one brought the girl here to entertain her but she's more interested in the shirtless volleyball players just down the way. That one was 26 pretending to be 19 so she could party like she never got a chance to when she actually was 19. Everyone was so dull.

Suddenly Sherlock's phone went off. A message flashed across the screen and he sat up straight and alert. He recognized the number immediately and knew that things were about to get very, very not good. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock clicked on the inbox button and opened the message. At the same time, not far away, John was struggling to get off the ride before the carriage came to a complete stop. He pushed the workers aside as they told him he would have to be ejected from the boardwalk for noncompliance but John pushed them off.

"Sherlock!" He yelled, sticking elbows and shoulders into sides and chests as he attempted to wade his way through the sea of people. John could see Sherlock from where he was standing, but wasn't close enough to be heard yet. He started to push harder through the people.

Sherlock opened the text message and his hand began to tremble even before he had finished it. "Missing something?" It read. "I'm sure you'll be able to find me. JM"

John was standing directly in front of Sherlock now, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. "Hamish….he's…"

Sherlock cut him off, angrily reaching out to grab John's shoulder. "How on earth did you let him slip by you John?"

"We were playing the game you suggested. I turned around to cheat. I looked back and he wasn't there." John shrugged Sherlock's hand off his shoulder, instead reaching out to grab it with his own hand. "I'm sure he's fine though. Probably wanted to see how the ride worked. Let's go get them to stop the ride so we can get Hamish out."

"John. Hamish isn't in the ride. He's facing real monsters now." Sherlock held up his phone so John could read the text and began to walk off briskly before John had time to fully process it.

* * *

Hamish was trying to scream and lash out but his captor had a tight hold on him and he was feeling extremely sluggish. He could not see, they had tied a cloth over his eyes. He could however hear quite clearly. His father had taught him how to heighten certain senses to a point of hyperactivity when others had been cut off. It was one of his strange routines they practiced that actually paid off in time. Hamish found this ironically funny as he distinctly remembered telling his father that he would never have to do this.

He heard that his captors were two men. One had a voice that was more gruff and mean sounding. He figured that was the one referred to as Seb, and was also the one holding onto him. His knees were draped over the man's elbows and his back was braced against the other arm. "Seb" had muscular arms and a hard chest. Hamish had his arms hanging down in a manner that he could not use his hands to find out any more information. Judging by the way his voice sounded, Hamish could assume that Seb had a square jaw and was well-built. He could tell by the calculated movements and careful precision that this man used when walking that this man was a killer. He had quiet, soft footsteps and did not shake his upper body at all when he walked.

The other one was Jim. He had a voice that Hamish imagined a snake would. He drew out certain words unnecessarily long and sounded as though he could be nice enough on the surface but with a biting undertone. At one point in his lashing out Hamish's foot had connected with both Seb's jaw and Jim's arm. Immediately they stopped walking and Hamish was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. The snake-like voice was suddenly directly in his ear, giving a vivid description of what would happen if Hamish did that again.

"Try that again, little Holmes and I will have my dear Sebby drop you from somewhere much higher and you will land in somewhere much deeper. I will find sharks. I will cut your tiny stick arms enough to draw blood, and I will feed you to them. Do you understand me?" Jim whispered. Hamish whimpered in reply and then the voice was yelling, hands reaching out to shake Hamish's shoulders. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? ANSWER ME!" Jim screamed. Hamish nodded his head frantically and made his voice clear and calm as he said "Yes, I understand."

Jim started to laugh, a bizarre sound coming from an evil man. "Pick him back up," he commanded. Seb's arms surrounded him and Hamish let out a tiny mewl as he felt his body gain altitude. "I like you, little Holmes," Jim continued. "You're so much like your father. This will be a very fun game indeed. I just need you to play along. Can you do that? Hamish, am I correct? Hamish, can you play along with Jimmy and Sebby's game?"

Seb rumbled something and Hamish assumed they stopped because Jim's hand had slammed into Seb's shoulder. "What was that, Sebby?" he asked.

Hamish got goosebumps from Seb's disembodied, dark voice. "I said, do not call me Sebby." This induced more laughter from Jim and eventually he sighed. They started walking again.

"My apologies, Seb. I suppose you don't want Mr. Holmes here to get the wrong idea about you. Care if I give him a physical description of you, my pet? Suppose you wouldn't like to be called that, either. Hamish, are you listening to me? Of course you are, what else would you do? Sebastian Moran is currently holding onto you. Remember that name, please. Sebastian Moran is the second most dangerous man in the world, right behind me, as it seems. Sebby, sorry Sebastian, is an expertly skilled assassin. He's the best shot I know, and I've seen he's highly skilled with knife work. That's not so much of a physical description, though. Play along with my game, Hamish. I know you have some ideas. What do _you_ think Seb looks like? Please, I'm dying to know."

"I...uh...Sebastian seems to be athletically built, from his arms I would assume he's good at throwing. As you suggest, knives probably. He must have... a long torso and long legs, but there doesn't seem to be a bit of him that isn't muscley. A square jaw, maybe?" Hamish spoke in a voice just above a whisper, trembling despite his best attempts to sound strong.

"Very good, I'm impressed. I guess you'll have to see for yourself when we take off your blindfold. Don't want to give away anything. Your father must have trained you from an exceptionally young age." Sebastian spoke this time while Jim made soft noises of agreement.

His mind was racing while the conversation stopped, coming up with ideas of how to get to his fathers but any time he had an idea well enough thought through his limbs would not cooperate with his mind. He let himself relax into Sebastian's arms a bit, and then recognized the sounds of the boardwalk all around him. How were they walking along the boardwalk without being noticed? Isn't someone looking out for a little boy? Did his fathers even know that he was gone? Hamish could feel his heartbeat begin to race harder. He took deep, calming breaths to avoid a panic attack, but not being able to see was severely affecting him now. The next thing he knew he recognized the feeling of gaining altitude. They were walking up some kind of steps, Hamish recognized the walking pattern. But where on earth were they climbing to? Hamish kept his mind far, far away from thoughts of the ocean and sharks.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sherlock had stopped running suddenly to look up. He'd recognized someone walking up stairs, a figure he would recognize anywhere. He watched them climb up stairs John, unaware, kept running and smashed his face just between Sherlock's shoulder blades before looking up to find what Sherlock was already ten steps ahead on. He saw the sky tram running, carrying people with dangling feet hundreds of meters off the ground from one end of the boardwalk to the other. He did not see what had captured Sherlock's interest until he realized Sherlock had taken off running in the opposite direction. John recognized his son's shoes hanging down at a point equal to the knees of his worst nightmare's Westwood suit. John was off like a shot behind Sherlock, unafraid to elbow people in the face to get to his son's aid.

* * *

Hamish blinked as the sunlight dilated his eyes. He was firmly on his feet now, but Jim's arm was thrown casually around his shoulders. They were up on top of the sky tram. His fathers said they would ride this last today. The ride workers were being taken care of by Seb. He was learning how to control the ride, and then promising not to kill anyone if they would just get everyone off the ride and away. There was an evil flash in his eyes that made Hamish realize that someone was going to die if Sebastian got his way.

Keeping his thoughts on other things than dying, Hamish realized how incredibly accurate he had been with his description of Sebastian Moran. He was tall, and muscled like a cat, not overly pronounced, but there was a fluency with his movements that screamed to Hamish that this man was dangerous. His jaw was square, but the rest of his facial features looked as though he could be a friendly person. His hair was longer than Hamish had expected, slicked to the side in an almost military manner. He was wearing a leather jacket over a dark turtleneck tucked into dark dress pants. Everything about him was dark, except for his shockingly clear blue eyes.

By the time Hamish had processed all of what was happening around him, Sebastian had the ride cleared and the workers held up at gunpoint, speaking to the people on the other side. A blue seat swung around the edge and Jim commanded Seb to stop the ride so they could jump on. Hamish was tossed in and Jim sat down next to him, laughing as he tipped the seat forward while making small "oops!" noises. Hamish really wanted to get out, but he was now held in by the handlebar and the netting under his feet was gone. Now he was suspended over the boardwalk with an insane man.

"Ooohh, Hamish. Now that we're on first name basis I can let you know what I think about you. You have it _soo_ easy. Not one, but two fathers who care about you. Take a lesson from uncle Jim. Caring is not an advantage. Oh...wait, that's uncle Mycroft's saying, isn't it? Ahh, well. He has it right you know. Caring is far from advantageous. Caring gets you killed." Jim had been speaking in such a caring voice since the ride had started. Seb had stayed at one end of the ride while Jim removed Hamish's blindfold from his pocket and replaced it as a gag. When Hamish had a chance to really look at Jim he realized that the man's looks matched his voice perfectly. His eyelids drooped over his actual eyes which were large, deep set and looked slightly crazed, he had a 5 o'clock shadow beginning to appear across the lower portion of his face and a scrape along one of his cheekbones. His nose was straight and long, a look which could've been endearing on any other person's face. He had short dark hair, slightly coiffed in the front and wore an expensive looking suit. Hamish didn't feel intimidated by the voice alone, but the mixture of the voice and the look were enough to scare him more than the gargoyles had. Jim watched Hamish squirm a bit in the seat before reaching out to undo the gag from his mouth.

"You look as though you have something to say. Go on. Spit it out." Jim raised his eyebrows. Suddenly the ride stopped. A smirk spread across Jim's features and he turned his head slightly to wink at Seb.

"You're not my uncle," Hamish said as angrily as he could muster without giving away any fear. Jim laughed out loud, a full laugh that shook the seat they were in. He didn't answer for a bit, instead rocking the seat wildly as he clumsily searched his pockets for a pack of gum. Once he found it, he stuck the piece on the center of his tongue before putting it between his teeth. The hard shell cracked in a spiderweb like pattern before Jim closed his lips into a tight lipped smile.

"My name is James Moriarty, boy. I'm sure you've heard of me." Hamish tried not to let the shock register in his features but his eyes certainly widened a bit. He'd not made the connection between mean sounding Jim, and actual James Moriarty. The name spoke for itself. This was the man he had only heard about on occasion. If Hamish begged enough, Sherlock would tell him stories about cases as bedtime stories and John would very explicitly let on that Moriarty was a forbidden name. Nonetheless when John would spend nights doing surgery at Bart's and if Sherlock was in a good enough mood, Hamish could squeeze just a bit of information out about this elusive man. What he had managed to gather, both from past knowledge and the present situation, was that he was in a very dangerous place and needed help, now. But how? His father's didn't seem to notice his absence and he was now stopped in a carriage hundreds of meters from the ground. He was stuck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lunalovely97- Sorry it took so long to get this one out! Also, sorry it's so short. I've gotten a bit busy and uninspired! I'll try to keep it up more though, probably not every day but hopefully every other day until it's finished. I might also do more side story type things. I would like to explain my idea of Hamish's parentage (as it says in this chapter, his mom was Irene Adler and his dad was Sherlock. I'd love to do a story on how that all went down and maybe some where he goes on adventures with his mum.) So yes! Sorry about the late update. :)**

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**Chapter 4 ~~~**

Sherlock stood at the opposite end of the ride looking almost frantically at the buggy that had stopped halfway through it's journey. Hamish was staring back at him, eyes huge and pleading while Jim was having the time of his life. John scrambled up behind Sherlock, bent over his knees and panting to catch his breath from the running climb up the stairs. He stood up and made eye contact with Hamish before reaching out to latch on to Sherlock's wrist tightly, as though it were a life line. Sherlock shook him off and turned around to look at John in the eye.

"John. You must keep calm. Across the ride standing at the control booth is Moriarty's dear friend Sebastian Moran, who can aim and kill you with a single bullet right through here,"Sherlock jabbed John in the forehead, "from practically any distance. Hamish is obviously in the most danger he's ever been in his entire life and as much as I hate to say it, we're going to have to play along with whatever Jim wants us to do. This is a game to him, let's let him get his kicks and then we can get back our son. I can assume he's going to tell us to back off, get down from up here on the ride so they can exit. He'll probably have some sort of getaway and take Hamish somewhere that isn't here but I can't figure out where. Hopefully when he bores us with one of his lectures I can pull some information. John, are you listening?"

John nodded his head and Sherlock reached out to put his hands on John's shoulders. John raised his head slightly and looked at him as determined as he could muster, then nodded his head once more. "Yes, yes okay." John mumbled. Sherlock lowered his arms and they both turned to look at Jim.

"Hellooooo boys," Jim crooned. "Long time no see. I like the new addition to your family. Very domestic. I guess I could follow in your footsteps. I already found myself a live in. My little pet, I suppose. Isn't that right, Seb, darling? A kid would just get in the way, though. You boring, ordinary ones never have blood on your hands. Between Seb and myself, we probably have an ocean."

No one spoke, John was staring down Sebastian, his eyes locked on the barrel of the gun pointed in their direction, and Sherlock was watching Jim. Everyone was waiting for the other to make a move. The first one to speak was Hamish, who stuck his arms out as though to reach through the air and grab onto either John or Sherlock. "Father, please help me," he murmured, his voice broke on the last word. Jim laughed out loud and turned to look at Hamish with wide eyes.

"Do you really think that you can be saved by sniveling? You pathetic child. I thought you were better than that. Don't bore me, Hamish. Little boys who whine bore me and I don't think you want to see what happens to those who are dull and monotonous." Jim cracked a smile, pushing the gum out to hang between his lips. Then he chuckled and leaned forward in the seat. It began to tip and Hamish gripped onto the handle bar tightly, but kept a determined face with his eyes locked on his father's. "Hamish," Jim sighed. "I can let the handle bar go. There's a button right here on the side and I can keep tipping forward and release the handle bar and watch you plummet down. Someone might catch you though, seems we have a few spectators..."

He was right, down below their feet hundreds of people had gathered to watch the drama. They were yelling out comments to Moriarty, and people were starting to gather by the stairs on Moran's side, daring eachother to climb up and fix this. Jim suddenly shot forward in the seat wildly and let out a faux scream of horror. Hamish was thrown forward, almost completely falling out of the seat in the space. He suddenly hated his skinny frame, a physique he inherited from both sides of his family line. His mother, Irene, donated the sharp shoulders and knobby knees while his father contributed cutting cheekbones, a prominent jawline and long, awkward limbs. It was enough to allow him to slip around. He wished to have been blood related to John, who was thicker and stronger looking.

Without warning, a gunshot fired. Moran had turned and shot the air, scaring the people advancing towards him from the stairs back. Jim let out a guffaw. "I'm done with this part of the game, Seb. These people are in the way. Let's move to somewhere else. Care to join us, Sherlock? I'm sure you can figure it out. I've left quite a few clues around about where we'll be going now. But for now I'm going to ask you to step down. Take your cherished John and climb down those stairs. I will take your little one along with me. He'll be quite safe, I promise. And meet up with us. If you want I can tell you where your first clue will be at. But first go away."

"Let's go, John," Sherlock said, grabbing John's wrist and stepping backwards slowly.

"You can't be serious. Sherlock. That's Hamish, not some toy we can play games with." John stood solidly in place, his back now to Moran. Sherlock pulled on his arm in a manner that was almost begging.

"Just trust me. Moriarty will not harm Hamish. I've already explained. We must do what he wants until he's had enough."

"Last time he had enough, we nearly got killed. In a swimming pool. Do you not remember?!"

"Of course, I remember John!" Sherlock looked as though he were about to finally let loose and yell at any moment. Frantic, almost scared, and not any way John had seen him for a long time. "Now let's go. I can figure out where he's going. We can meet him there. We can take Hamish back home."

"Back home as in back to London?"

"John. That is hardly important now." Sherlock was finally managing to coax John forward, one hesitant step at a time until they were at the staircase.

"You'll find the first clue at the place your son was stolen," Jim called out as the ride moved forward. "Now go on, you can do it."

Sherlock and John were at the bottom of the stairs now, and John ran around to the side to watch Hamish and Moriarty get off the ride. Jim was gripping Hamish's arm firmly, then called out to Moran. "Sebby, where is our getaway."

"Should be here shortly, boss," Moran called back, he had to use all of his voice in order for it to carry across the people and the distance. He stepped down off the staircase, pointing his gun at random people he passed. Sherlock and John blended themselves in amongst a group of foreigners that had come to watch the display, ducking down behind them. Moran and Moriarty were putting on a show. This was all fun and games for them. As if on cue, Moran's phone let off a series of chimes once he reached the other side. "Actually, they're here now."

"Excellent," Jim laughed, guiding Hamish forward and off the staircase. Moran continued to point his gun and Moriarty pulled out his own, but left it dangling in his hand at his side. They walked out towards the closest exit and as a parting gift, Moran fired off his gun into the air once more. Once they had left everyone in the crowd let out a sigh of relief and went on to continue the rides. The police arrived, sirens blaring, but they were too late. Hamish was gone and things on the boardwalk were back in running order.


	5. Chapter 5

**I really wanted to get this one out tonight, and I would've written more but I have to be out the door in ten minutes. Thank you Raychaell Dionzeros and Lunalovely97 for your reviews every chapter. You guys seriously keep me going! Maybe I'll have another chapter out tonight to make up for how short all of these have been. We'll see.**

* * *

**Chapter 5~~~**

Once they arrived, the police didn't waste any time beginning their questioning any witnesses they could grab. Most of them pointed out Sherlock and John, pushing themselves the opposite direction through the crowd to get back to the haunted house. Sherlock was ignoring John's questions, instead working out in his mind who might have passed by to give possible clues while he was sitting outside the ride. Just before John had exited, Sherlock had gotten a text. There was no secret coding in it, it was straightforward and to the point. And before that he had only been observing the people walking by. Of the ones who passed by closest to him, there were two boys and four girls. Mostly teenagers, except the 26 year old pretending to be a teen. None of them seemed particularly capable of being a part of Moriarty's plan. He thought harder, trying to remember people in the background. There were quite a few, but again none seemed offensive. That was always the problem. On the outskirts of vision and through physical appearance only, anyone could seem innocent. Just as Sherlock was sure he was about to have a mental breakthrough, some sort of epiphany about who or what was able to crack this clue, a police officer grabbed his arm. On instinct, Sherlock jumped like a cat and distanced himself from the person. John began to apologize profusely, during Sherlock's jump he smacked the officer with his arm.

The officer said all was okay and looked Sherlock and John up and down before beginning the questioning. "Hello. Can I have your names, please? I hear your son has been taken and we'd like to do everything we can to get him back to you."

"No, thanks," Sherlock spat, then turned on his heel, brought his hands to either side of his head and began rubbing his temples furiously while walking onwards towards the Haunted House. He was looking at his feet, not at the people around him and they parted on either side instead of letting him run into them. John stayed behind with the officer, watching Sherlock walk away with a look of complete shock on his face.

"Excuse him, officer. He can be a bit...difficult. That's Sherlock Holmes. I'm Doctor John Watson, and we appreciate your help, even if it doesn't particularly show in his case." John held his hand out and the officer shook it, looking a bit confused.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson? I thought Mr. Holmes was supposed to be helping Inspector Smith, not getting us into more cases." The officer still had his eyes trained on Sherlock, who was still walking through the crowd with his hands on his temples.

"Yes, well. Trouble seems to follow Sherlock. Either that or he finds it. I'm sorry officer, but we don't really have much time to talk, do you mind if I go catch up to him?" John took one step forward, turning sideways to continue facing the officer.

"We'll do everything we can to help you out, Doctor Watson. We would just like to know the back story."

"We really, _really_ don't have time for that, sorry."

"Is there something you know? Is there something you know about this boy being missing that you aren't telling us?"

"No...well...No. Not yet at least. So. Like I said, no time and I must be off. Thanks for your help." John raised his eyebrow to the man and when there was no more challenging look about the officer, John took off running to catch up to Sherlock. In the twenty five running leaps it took to reach Sherlock, John was beginning to realize how much of his life was turning into constantly trying to keep up with him. It was a reminder more than a realization. He had been running after Sherlock since day one, and day one was ten years ago.

John matched Sherlock's long stride, once he'd caught up. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Shut up, John. I'm trying to think." They were now standing outside the haunted house, just in front of the guardrails where the people lined up for the ride.

John stopped, then glanced around them. There was nothing that could give away any sorts of clues. No graffiti on the walls, no people looking suspicious in any manner. Nothing. Sherlock seemed to think otherwise though, he was pushing his way to the front of the line. John sighed and followed along behind him, apologizing as they went. "Excuse us, sorry. Excuse us." He mumbled as he followed along in the wake of the damage Sherlock was causing. The people seemed not to care too much about them and John let out an exhalation of relief as they reached the front of the line without any problems. The workers raised their eyebrows as Sherlock tried to pass through the barriers into the ride and one reached out to stop him, nervously resting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock whipped around. "I need to inspect this ride thoroughly. Can you please stop it, so I may enter." The worker was not impressed as Sherlock flashed his ID. Instead he reached over to talk into a radio on his shoulder. John put his hand over between the man's mouth and the radio. He looked over at the man's name tag.

"David," John began, "Hi, our son was taken from us today and we think there may be a clue inside there so it would be very very helpful if you could evacuate the ride and allow us to do a search." David looked back and forth between Sherlock and John, then a light of recognition flickered across his features.

"You rode this with him earlier, didn't you? The boy? Yeah, we can stop it, no problem." David didn't give John or Sherlock a chance to answer, instead he walked over and told his fellow workers not to let anyone else on the ride. They asked why, and John went over to calmly explain the situation while Sherlock tapped his foot and waited for all of the riders to exit. It took around five minutes to get everyone off, but it felt to Sherlock like five hours. He demanded for the lights inside to be turned off and grabbed John by the end of his jumper sleeve to pull him along inside. The ride was significantly less scary with the lights on, but there was still something weird about being surrounded by plastic skeletons and monsters. Sherlock sped ahead, staring at the walls and glancing behind the automated things that jumped out. Nothing was grabbing his attention. Nothing was there to give any clues like Moriarty said. Sherlock banged his fist against the wall, becoming angrier by the second. He should be able to figure this out. He was Sherlock Holmes, for God's sake.

John, on the other hand, spotted something right away. "Sherlock, look." John pointed to the floor, on a spot where a UV light was shining and creating a shape. Sherlock clapped his hands together and smiled. He looked up and around him to try and find the source of the light, and once he found it, scrambled up the wall to grab it. Holding the light above the ground, a letter appeared. As Sherlock stepped forward, more letters were illuminated.

"John get out a pencil and paper, please." Sherlock called out. John reached into Sherlock's coat pocket and pulled out a miniature moleskine with a pencil looped in it's holder. Sherlock began to yell out the letters, pulling the UV light cord along with him as far as he could until he had to set it down and reach up for another one. The letters and a few numbers led them all the way through the ride. Once they reached the end, Sherlock threw the UV light off to the side and clapped his hands together again. John handed off the pencil and paper and Sherlock stared at it.

It read: "Phhw xv dw 654 Sdflilf Dyhqxh iru d vshfldo wuhdw arar". John saw it as a waste of time, an accident, nothing to go off of. Sherlock ran through a list of codes and ciphers it could be in his head. They pushed their way out the doors and into the light of the day. By the time John had thanked the people and the ride had begun to run again, Sherlock had the code cracked and the notebook placed back in his pocket.

"Let's go, John. We have somewhere to be." Sherlock sped his way into the crowd and wove through the people to get to the nearest exit. John rushed to catch up to him and sidestepped children to keep up.

"Where on earth are we going, Sherlock? What did that mean? I'm pretty sure phhw isn't a word in any language I've ever heard of."

"It wasn't a different language. It was a code. The Caesar cipher. It shifts the alphabet three places over. So M becomes P and E becomes H and T becomes W. The encoded message said 'Meet us at 654 Pacific Avenue for a special treat xoxo'. Moriarty's being particularly kind as he is with some of his nastier schemes so we must hurry." They now stood just outside the boardwalk exit and Sherlock was close to jogging. John shook his head and mumbled praises about Sherlock's excellence while actually jogging to keep up with his long legs. They flagged down a taxi and clambered in. Sherlock demanded for them to rush to the address as quickly as they could. The driver nodded his head and stepped on the gas pedal, pushing them into traffic and hopefully closer to their son.

* * *

Moriarty chuckled, rubbing his hand over Hamish's hair. "You're adorable. I might just keep you, Hamish. Have you ever handled a gun before?"

Hamish swallowed audibly, tried to shake off the feeling of goosebumps running down his spine and shook his head in response to Jim's question. Sebastian was sitting in the front seat of the getaway car, sharpening his pocket knife absentmindedly and directing the driver where to go.

"Would you like to learn how to shoot? I can teach you. We can even do target practice. Your fathers would make fine dummies." Jim wasn't even looking at Hamish now, instead watching the scenery flash by outside the window. There were lots of trees and houses and occasionally there would be a spot clear enough to see through to the sparkling waters of the Pacific Ocean. He wondered briefly what his father's view on the ocean was. He was sure Sherlock would have some highly over rational non entertaining answer about what was out there, while John would regale him with tales of mermaids and sirens and pirates and fun. Hamish cleared his head of all thoughts regarding either of his fathers. It was much too painful at this point, as he wasn't sure when or if he would ever see either of them again.

"How is mummy these days?" Jim asked, still staring out the window. "She was always someone I looked forward to crossing paths with but now we seem to run in perpendicular lines, crossed once and fated to never meet again."

"She's fine," Hamish spoke clearly and calmly, trying to make himself bored. This drew laughter out of Jim.

"It amazes me how much alike your father you are. Sometimes you're cold and unreadable, like dear Sherlock and other times you can be quite whiney and scared like Johnny boy. Interesting how two absolutely different traits met up." Nobody spoke for a while. The only sound in the car was Moran tapping the edge of his pocketknife on his leg. The driver began to start a conversation with Seb but he was either not answering or just giving one word answers. Eventually conversation stopped again.

Hamish began to jiggle his legs and tap his feet and clasped his hands together in his lap. He looked out the window again and thought of advice he's gotten in his lifetime for situations like this. His fathers tried to avoid talking about emergency situations after the time John ran an evacuation practice in case one of Sherlock's kitchen table experiments went wrong. The evacuation itself ended up being a disaster when Sherlock refused to play along and John shut himself in his room for the rest of the evening. They never considered kidnapping because Sherlock was always aware of where Hamish and John were, even if he was ignoring them. Hamish thought of how interesting things would be back at home, when both of his fathers would be angry at one another. He would probably have to stay with Uncle Mycroft, which would be torturous.

As the thoughts flew threw his head, they were stopping in front of a dilapidated old house. The windows were boarded up and the wooden steps and porch were falling in. The driver stopped the car but didn't switch it off, instead turning his head to look at Jim. Sebastian also turned around and sighed when he realized that no one was moving. "I guess I'll be the one getting out then?" he asked. Jim closed his eyes tightly and pulled his lips up into a smile while nodding furiously. "Thanks, dear."

Sebastian clambered out of the car and walked up the steps delicately to keep them from falling in. He went inside, disappeared long enough for Hamish to mentally catalog all the information he could about the house (as previously pointed out, it was falling apart and boarded up, the numbers on the side were falling off but barely readable as 654, and the grass was overgrown, there were houses on either side and across the street but they were spaced out) and then sauntered back down the steps, through the knee high weeds and grass and back into the car.

"Everything okay inside, my pet?" Jim asked, leaning forward to place both of his hands on Sebastian's shoulders and briefly rub them. Sebastian nodded.

"Yes, everything is in order for them to find." Seb said, then pivoted his head to look at Hamish. An evil glint flashed across his eyes and he pulled back out his pocketknife.

Jim laughed out loud this time, a sharp barking sound and then a series of chuckles. He took his hands back from Seb's shoulders and turned completely in his seat so he, too could stare at Hamish. He chuckled and winked. "Excellent."


	6. Chapter 6

**I want to finish this tonight so I'll post this chapter right now and then the last chapter (of this fic) tomorrow. Hope you enjoy, and again I apologize for it being so late.**

* * *

**Chapter 6~~~**

The cabbie pulled up in front of number 645 Pacific Avenue and Sherlock thrust some bills to him while John scrambled to get out of the taxi before Sherlock pushed him out. They stood in front of the pathway as the taxi drove off. John felt very alone and very unsafe. Something about the overgrown weeds and boarded up windows and distant neighbors made this house seem as though it were actually haunted. Sherlock wasted no time pushing onwards up to the front steps. Before he climbed up, john reached out to grab his sleeve.

"Be careful, Sherlock. You don't know what could be in there. This is Moriarty we' re dealing with." John kept his voice low, and practically put on puppy dog eyes once Sherlock turned around to look at him.

"I know what we're dealing with. And I'm always careful. You have no need to worry," Sherlock sent a reassuring smile John's way just before turning the doorknob and pushing the door open.

"They aren't here," Sherlock said at the same time John was saying "I don't think we'll find what we want to here." They started to scan the room for the clues, and Sherlock found what he wanted almost immediately. He opened the door to an adjoining room, then covered his nose to block the stench that permeated the air. In the back corner of the room, opposite from where he was standing a headless chicken lay crumpled and bleeding. The walls had been decorated with blood, spelling out a straightforward message, the letters were all written backwards, some upside down but for Sherlock it was easy to read.

"Hurry up this time, boys. 546 Clearview Boulevarde. Tick, tock." Sherlock spun around to see tick tock repeated in blood in regular writing.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, stepping just outside the room. "John, go stop that cab!"

"Jesus, Sherlock. What on earth is that smell? It's like something died." John walked into the room with his nose covered by his hand at the same time as Sherlock was rushing out. His shoulder hit John and John fell over to the side, hitting his arm on the wall. The blood smeared and John gagged, rushing out of the room to follow Sherlock. The door was open, halfway off the hinges and Sherlock was reflected in the window that was next to John sprinting down the street behind the cab, waving his arms above his head. The driver saw and stopped, letting Sherlock in before turning around to honk at John until he came out. John rubbed his hand on his jacket sleeve where the blood was and held his hand up to Sherlock. The window rolled down and Sherlock stuck his head out.

"I'll explain in the cab, please_ hurry up_ John!" Sherlock put his hand out of the cab and motioned wildly. He looked crazed, his hair was sticking up in multiple places from running his hands through it over and over while thinking, and his eyes were flitting back and forth as though he were reading something. John took hesitant steps at first, but thought of Hamish and began to jog as quickly as possible through the high grass over to the cab.

He slid in and looked at Sherlock's increasingly wild features. "What is going on?" John whispered through his teeth. Sherlock help up his finger in John's face and urged the cab driver to drive away from the house as quickly as possible. The driver obliged, already used to Sherlock's demanding ways, and accelerated rapidly. Sherlock whipped his head around to watch the house grow smaller in the distance. When John turned his head there was a muffled boom and the house disappeared from view, instead replaced by a huge cloud of dust. The driver saw the dust in the mirror and sped up even more to stay away from it.

"What the hell is going on, Sherlock?! Was that a bomb?" John sat with his body twisted around so Sherlock's nose was touching his own.

"Yes, obviously." Sherlock sighed, leaning back away from John. He turned his head away to watch the scenery outside the window. John reached out to put his hand on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock tipped his head slightly toward John. "Hamish is likely being held hostage at whatever is at 546 Clearview. The message tick tock leads me to believe that his life is either in danger by a bomb, unlikely though as Moriarty isn't one to repeat himself, or some sort of poison. Either way we must hurry."

The cab driver heard the conversation and was now pushing the speed limit. John sat back in his seat, his mouth puckered up like he was deep in thought, as Sherlock looked over completely. John's eyes began to prick with angry tears. How could he let his son get into this situation? It was all his fault that he got taken in the first place. His breathing began to turn into sharp intakes followed by slow exhalations as he tried to calm himself. This wasn't in his control. But if he'd just been paying attention to his son rather than trying to cheat at their silly game, none of this would ever happen.

Sherlock put his hand out and squeezed John's forearm. "This wasn't your fault, John." He gave a quick attempt at a reassuring smile before removing his hand from John's arm and looking back out the window, with his hands pressed together against his lips.

* * *

Hamish was sitting in a chair in an old parking garage, arms tied behind his back, and his legs tied to the front legs of the chair. He opened his mouth and let out as loud of a scream as he could manage. Sebastian and Jim were standing against the wall on the opposite side of the garage, and Sebastian snapped around as the noise echoed around them. His mouth was fixed in a grimace and Hamish instantly regretted his decision. He started to wiggle in the chair, trying to get his arms loose. Jim walked over and picked up the chair with Hamish in it, then slammed it down on the floor. The back legs splintered and pieces flew out and Hamish was now on his side, kicking around like a fish out of water.

Sebastian followed behind Jim and they whispered to each other before walking off. Sebastian had a gun pulled out, aimed at Hamish's head and in his other hand he was holding a piece of bread, which he kept bringing to his mouth and nibbling on. He walked backwards and Jim kept glancing over his shoulder to be sure Hamish wasn't trying to move anymore. Hamish closed his eyes and calmed his breathing down once the two men were gone from his sight. He could still hear their feet echoing around. He thought of his fathers, and how they were likely to show up at any second. Soon they were echoing closer and Hamish snapped his eyes open.

Jim was carrying a gasoline jug, the liquid swished around inside noisily. Hamish opened his lips and a small noise of fear escaped. Sebastian let out a chuckle, reaching out to shake the jug in Jim's hand. Together they held the jug steady as they poured a circle around Hamish and a line up to the chair. They doused as much of the chair and Hamish's lower half as they could before walking off to spread the gasoline in random circles until they ran out of gasoline. Then they walked back over to the wall they stood against before. Jim started lighting matches and flicking them to the ground. None of them landed on the gasoline by the time he was done with half of a book.

"Eventually one of these has to hit, and hopefully your precious daddies are here. I left them a message. Should I call them, Hamish? Ask how much longer they're going to be?" Jim pulled out his mobile from the pocket of his Westwood suit. "Here, I'll dial now. Seb will go over there next to you. He'll make sure that they know you're here with us."

Sebastian walked over to stand next to Hamish, snapping his pocketknife open. He smiled evilly down at the boy and reached out to put his foot on Hamish's shoulder. Jim dialed the number on speakerphone, each number beeping in surround sound as it bounced off the walls. The ringing began, buzzing into Hamish's head like an angry bee. On the second ring he felt the cold metal of the pocketknife settle against his skin.

* * *

Sherlock and John had the cabbie let them out at 545 Clearview Boulevarde. It was a mostly industrial area, with the ocean and a pier on one side of the street and a series of other abandoned looking buildings on the other. There was no 546, only 545 and 547. In between the two was a large, hulking parking garage. Sherlock assumed this was what Jim had meant, especially since everything was a game to him. Just as John and Sherlock reached the entrance of the structure, Sherlock's phone rang. The number was blocked and Sherlock didn't hesitate to answer, already sure of who it would be.

"Hello?" Sherlock mumbled. John took a half a step closer to Sherlock and they both continued into the garage.

"Speak up, Sherlock. Your son would like to hear your voice. It just might be the last thing he hears," Jim's smooth voice sounded too calm and sweet for the situation. "Actually, here. Hamish, say hello to father." Sherlock assumed Jim was holding the speaker out to wherever Hamish was. There was a brief moment of silence and horrible screeches of pain. In the middle of one of the screams Sherlock was able to make out that is was Hamish, and he was yelling in pain. "Hurry up, there isn't much time until I get completely bored," Jim warned. He hung up before Sherlock had a chance to say anything.

John had taken off running while Sherlock was on the phone, his feet leading him to the source of the screams. He wasn't even sure whose they were but someone needed help, and he should be there. Sherlock began to run after him but had soon overtaken him. The cries continued, echoing closer and closer until soon Sherlock could see the source of them. Sebastian was pressing the tip of his knife into Hamish's arm, carving long lines down it, shredding up the jumper John had recently bought him. When Sebastian noticed Sherlock watching, he stopped. Hamish was sobbing, his arms tied behind him and his shoulder digging into the ground on his side. He was sitting on what looked like used to be a wooden kitchen chair, but bits had splintered off. Hamish looked up and mouthed something, but no noise came out of his throat.

John had caught up to Sherlock and began to keep running forward to tackle Sebastian, but slipped on the gasoline on the floor. Sebastian laughed, then walked over to stand next to Jim. They conversed to each other again in hushed voices while Sherlock helped John up. Before they could walk over to help Hamish, Jim cleared his throat. Sherlock pulled his gun from his pocket, aiming it at Jim's skull. He was prepared to fire. He was prepared to end this all.

"I hate to be one to crash a happy reunion, but Seb and I must be off. Hopefully we catch you later," Jim began to saunter away, holding the match book in his fist. "There is just one last thing we have to do." He pulled out a match and lit it, then flicked it to the floor like the rest of them. There was a painful moment of hesitation, where no one was really sure what would happen, and then the fire spread.


	7. Chapter 7

Just as the flames started, Sherlock fired the gun. He aimed wildly, shooting in the direction Jim and Sebastian were moving, but did not hit either of them. Sherlock took off running in the same direction as they had, trying to catch up before it was too late. They led him on a maze-like trip between columns and up and down multiple floors. Apparently they had spread the gasoline around quite a bit, as the flames seemed to follow wherever Sherlock was running. The fire was spreading so much that the air was beginning to thicken with smoke, soon Sherlock lost sight of Jim and Sebastian and stuck his gun angrily back into his jacket pocket to sprint back to where John and Hamish were. While he'd been gone, John had managed to untie Hamish from his restraints, gather him in his arms and move forward against the blaze. Hamish's gasoline-dowsed clothes were in danger of lighting up at any second.

Sherlock led the way, searching for a quick exit. Everywhere looked the same, like they were travelling in circles. Just as Sherlock was about to give up hope, he realized there were windows all around the walls and in each corner was an elevator and a set of stairs. He tore off in the direction he felt would lead him most quickly to one of these walls. Eventually he was there, and luckily close to a corner. He grabbed John's sleeve and pulled him and Hamish into the stairwell. They stood for a minute, coughing and getting their breath back. John sat Hamish down and soon both of his fathers were bent over, Sherlock was instructing him on breathing and John was doing a very efficient doctor check up. Once they were convinced the boy was fine internally, John reached over to tear off the sleeve of the jumper.

"It's a shame, I quite liked this one," he mumbled, then looked up to wink at Hamish. It went unseen, he had his eyes closed and head angled up towards the ceiling as he continued to follow his father's instructions on returning his breathing to normal. John had wrapped the torn sleeve around Hamish's arm and kissed the center of his son's palm before standing up again. Sherlock picked up Hamish this time, and Hamish wrapped his hands around his father's neck before pressing his face into his chest, and wrapping his legs around Sherlock's waist.

John led the rest of the way down the stairs, shoving the door open at the bottom. The sky was dark and smoke was pouring out of the upper story windows. Fire engines were coming towards them, the lights flashing and sirens blaring. Moriarty must not have expected anyone to get out alive. Sherlock set Hamish on the curb and John sat down next to his son. Once the firemen were close enough they began yelling out questions, one running over to talk while the rest went in to tackle the blaze. John was calm and collected, staying seated with his son cuddled against him while Sherlock slipped off to the shadows to trace a path around the building and find if Moriarty had left any clues of where he'd be travelling next. Hidden on the back portion of the wall was an arrow, small and insignificant enough for normal people to miss but enough for Sherlock to follow. He jogged around to the next building and stood, sating in complete shock at a replica of the wall of the sitting room in 221B. The smiley face was spray painted on, the wallpaper was exact, even the marks from the bullet holes were included. Just as he was about to reach out and touch it, the whole thing erupted into flames. There was no beginning or end to the blaze but just as soon as he'd looked, the entire thing was gone.

To him this only meant one thing, Moriarty was not done playing games. Sherlock ran back to John and Hamish, not letting on what he'd seen. He complained to John about having sore legs and missing experimenting back in the kitchen. Hamish agreed and said that he preferred the quiet life back in London on Baker Street over the hectic weekend they'd spent in California. The firefighters had already arranged for a ride to come and gather the three and return them to Harry's rented home. They did not have to wait long to clamber into the backseat and off back to their temporary home. Hamish sat in the middle and rather than do what he normally would do, which was curl up into John, he instead leaned over and pressed his head into Sherlock's arm. Sherlock reached over with his other hand and gently pet Hamish's hair before leaving his hand to rest on top of his head. John looked over and smiled at them. He felt like soon things could just be back to normal. Where he could deal with thumbs in the fridge and Hamish fretting over spelling homework. It was a naive thought, he was well aware that things couldn't be as normal as they had been. Moriarty had been nice. He gave them nine years of downtime to spend with Hamish. And now he was bored.

* * *

Back at 221B the next week, after many lectures from Mrs. Hudson about proper childcare, things seemed to be going well and normal for John. He was hoping that maybe they could get onto a nine year schedule, maybe so Hamish could be more capable of fighting back. Since the incident he had become even more secluded and talked even less than before. John worried about a serious psychological impact from it but Sherlock told him that he was just taking after his father. Hamish still participated in his father's daily experimentation, he always fell asleep in bed with a book pressed either to his chest or over his face as he dozed off in the middle of sentences, and he was able to communicate when John forced a conversation.

Hamish was really just glad that his fathers weren't fighting. He had been afraid of staying with Uncle Mycroft for at least a weekend while Sherlock moped about and John yelled at him. Or more likely to him, while Sherlock completed the titration process of various things. Hamish was seated in the corner, pressed between the bookshelf and couch when the only incident occurred. Sherlock made a comment about the possibility of Moriarty returning, especially since now he definitely had Moran on his side. John nearly flipped the table in anger, and when Hamish peeked his head out to see why it was suddenly so quiet, Sherlock had left and John was standing with his knuckles white against the edge of the table, taking deep and angry breaths. He stood there for only a minute longer, but then left the flat and did not return until the next morning. When he did return he apologized to Sherlock and Hamish, then went to his room and shut the door. Just seconds later Sherlock followed him in and they discussed in hushed voices. Hamish, eager to know what they were talking about, cracked the door open. They finished talking and when Sherlock noticed Hamish crouched in the doorframe, he leaned forward to peck John on the cheek before scooping Hamish up in his arms.

"Don't let you dad worry you Hamish. As long as you are with me, everything will be fine. I promise to never let anything happen to you remotely similar to the events of the last week ever again." Sherlock carried him into his bedroom and sat down with him in the middle of the floor. That night he stayed up playing games that he normally called "mind numbing waste of time". He even let a laugh slip out. Hamish became more and more like himself, giggling wildly and rolling across the floor.

Sherlock was documenting everything in his mind palace, wrapped up in his bathrobe on the couch at one in the morning when John finally got a chance to talk to him alone.

"Sherlock?" John whispered into the dark before flicking on a light switch. The room was illuminated and Sherlock jumped up immediately from laying down to sitting. He looked up and John angrily.

"You know better to interrupt me when I'm so obviously documenting," he snapped. John smiled wryly and sat down on the cushion next to Sherlock. They sat in silence for a moment before Sherlock laid down again, this time his knees curled into his chest and his head in John's lap. "What is it, John?"

"Will they come back?" John asked, placing his hand on the side of Sherlock's head.

"Yes. Obviously. They've left plenty of clues around." And they had. Moran and Moriarty had set up a series of clues around the various crime scenes they had attended since returning. They made sure that Sherlock had plenty of work to come back to.

John sighed. "Well I guess this time, we'll be ready."

"As ready as we can be of course. I'm a bit hungry, can we go out for Chinese?" Sherlock asked, straightening up. John laughed and stood up, allowing Sherlock's head to flop back into the cushion. They walked into the bedroom to change, woke Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on Hamish while he slept, and strode together down the street to get exactly what Sherlock wanted.

* * *

**Yes okay I know it's later than I said but it's done. Thank you all who read and those sweet little darlings who reviewed every chapter. I obviously have left it open to a sequel and like I said I would like to do little stories about other adventures not involving Moriarty. I may edit this chapter later as I kind of squeezed it out, but I'll probably just be lazy and leave it as it is. Thanks again! :)**


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